


Where the Rift Mends

by snarkyscorp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/pseuds/snarkyscorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once there was a man named Harry Potter. Then, one day, there wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Rift Mends

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [HP NextGen Fest 2010](http://hp_nextgen_fest.livejournal.com). Huger than huge thanks my beautiful beta, Literaryspell.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when Ginny received the news. There should have been bacon sizzling in the pan, pancakes flipping in the air, fresh jam and potato cubes, coffee and tea. Lily was visiting for two more weeks, Albus and Scorpius were scheduled to pop in for lunch, and James was going to surprise Harry by being there for dinner. A big family dinner, like they'd had when the kids were little, before things grew complicated and stiff and Harry was gone every weekend on endless cases that never closed. Harry should have been home in eight hours; Ginny would have waited to kiss him, fuss over his hair, and prod him for details about the troublesome case in Japan.

It was a lazy Sunday when Ginny answered the door in her floor-length bathrobe and received the news from a boy Al's age.

"Are you Mrs. Potter?" he asked, voice high and large eyes watery. 

"Yes, what can I do for you?"

"Minister Shacklebolt needs to see you as quickly as you can ready yourself. There's been an accident."

Ginny's mouth went dry as the boy's lips formed the code words that meant her life would never be the same.

"Treacle tart."

~*~

 _Once upon a time, there was a man, a hero, a legend named Harry Potter. Then, one day, after a sweaty battle and a heroic choice, there wasn't. The winds grew cold._

_And when there wasn't, everyone was left to save themselves and slay their own dragons, to fight their own demons, to lay their own shadows to rest. When there wasn't a Harry Potter anymore, there was only a myth left behind, a storybook romance of a lanky, malnourished boy who grew up to be Head Auror, who parents named their children after, who changed the way evil perished._

_Once upon a time, there was a man named Harry Potter. Then, one day, there simply wasn't._

~*~

Ginny had told Harry treacle tart was hardly what the Ministry had in mind when they'd said, "Choose coded messages that convey a secret meaning for the following life altering situations: emergency, evacuation, capture, and death." Harry chose Fizzing Whizzbee for general emergencies, plum pudding for evacuation, chocolate frog for capture, and treacle tart for death.

It was a reminder of just how lightly Harry took matters of death. After Kingsley told Harry he needed those codes, Harry had told Ginny, "You will never need to worry about hearing anybody say treacle tart unless they are talking about part of Molly's excellent Christmas feast." He'd grinned when he said it, like it was all some big joke and not a matter the Ministry took to heart. Ginny had smiled with him. She believed wholeheartedly that Harry was invincible.

Through the years, Ginny had heard her fair share of Fizzing Whizzbees and a few plum puddings but had always been thankful for the lack of chocolate frogs and treacle tarts. Hearing the words now sent a strange ring sounding through Ginny's ears, as if every noise in the world had been magnified to its loudest decibel and then suddenly snapped off mid-sound and wiped down to the barest tin buzz. The noise thrummed delicately, erasing the words on the boy's lips, which moved soundlessly and slowly, like an object hurled through space but slowed with Impedimenta.

Staring at the boy, Ginny wasn't sure what to do first. Protocol said she should get dressed as quickly as possible, tell anyone she was with that she needed to step out for a moment, and go with the boy to the Ministry. They had been through these kinds of drills a thousand times when Harry first entered the Auror program, again when he was promoted to Head Auror, and again when his assignments grew more and more dangerous. Ginny knew the rules and schedule by heart, knew she should begin the arduous process before the press got wind, but she could not move her legs for the life of her. Both hands dropped lifelessly to her sides, and her body swayed in the gentle summer breeze.

"Mrs. Potter?" the boy mouthed. Ginny couldn't hear him, but she could read the surname on his lips and knew it like she knew how to breathe. "Mrs. Potter, are you all right?"

Numb denial spread through Ginny's body. From the chill at the top of her scalp to the ache settling in the back of her heels, she let the feeling wash over her.

It was impossible. This boy obviously didn't know what he was saying, to whom he was speaking. She needed to see Kingsley. She needed to set things right, to clear this awful joke from her head, to see Harry and kiss him and tell him what an awful husband he was for getting her all worked up over nothing.

"Let me get dressed," Ginny said, turning to the stairs. She left the door open for the boy to enter if he wished, but he remained outside the threshold as if he found it impossible to walk inside.

Up in the master bedroom, Ginny found a pair of brown trousers and a white t-shirt. Stepping into her dress sandals, she moved quietly to the bathroom to find her hairbrush and dragged it through the mess of tangled hair she'd slept on all night. Glancing up to the mirror, she noticed with dull surprise that she was crying. Noiselessly, the tears slithered down her red-blotched cheeks, tracing each freckle and winding towards the pale column of her throat. Hastily, she wiped them away with trembling fingers, deadened to the feel of her own fingertips rushing the tears off her face.

In the hallway, as she grabbed her purse, she ran into Scorpius, whose hair was tousled and cheeks red, looking as if he'd run from his mid-London flat to their country house. He grinned at her, and she would have grinned back, except that she could no longer feel the muscles in her face. Try as she might, she could do nothing but scowl and silently sob.

Scorpius bristled at the look she gave him. In an instant, he was beside her, holding her arm.

"Mrs. Potter?" he asked, voice quiet and unsure. "What's the matter?" 

"I need to run out for a moment," Ginny said, the speech rehearsed but clumsy on her dry lips. "Will you stay with Al and Lily and let them know?" 

"Of course," Scorpius said, but he didn't let go of her arm. "Can I… Is there anything I can get for you? Do you need some help?"

Ginny laughed, the sound cool and fragile. "I need to run out for a moment, Scorpius, and that's all. I just need to run out for a moment. Just for a moment. I'll be back in no time." For the life of her, Ginny couldn't find the necessary strength to continue any thought beyond the rehearsed lines, nor to pull herself from Scorpius' steadying hold.

Scorpius looked up, spotting the boy outside the door in Ministry garb. He looked from the boy and back to Ginny twice before he released her and allowed her to stumble out of the small but cosy cottage she called home. The last thing Ginny saw before she Disapparated was Scorpius' blue eyes filled with uncertainty and worry.

~*~

 _In the history books, there were written many things. Harry Potter often called them lies._

_They said an awful lot of things that weren't true about the ever-growing myth of Harry's life. They said he could handle three Dementors with one hand tied behind his back, that he fought off the Cruciatus and Imperius Curses both at once, that he slew ten dragons on a quest to find Death Eaters in Africa, that he could throw off the Killing Curse like it was a tickle to his skin, that he had died several times and come back without a scratch. Only a few of these were true._

_It was never written that Harry Potter died like many men die—in anguish, in pain, without hope of a second chance. The scars on his body told the story the books cannot: one said, 'I survived death twice' and the other read, 'I must not tell lies.'_

~*~

Ginny lowered herself carefully into the chair in Kingsley's office. She had been here hundreds of times over the past twenty-some-odd years. Being married to Harry Potter was not the easy, carefree, romantic life she had envisioned when she first fell in love—it was a life of unease, worry, luck, patience, and loneliness. If she wasn't at home wishing Harry was with her, then she was at the Ministry hearing about how Harry had narrowly escaped this or that curse, or she was at St. Mungo's, taking notes about Harry's condition or the effects of this or that malady. Ginny had always counted herself very lucky to be married to Harry, and she loved him beyond what she ever thought capable, but it was not an easy life.

Sitting before Kingsley, listening to him explain the details of Harry's final case, Ginny felt bitter resentment towards Harry for the very first time in her life. How could he have been so careless? What was the matter with him, saving one of his Aurors before himself? How could he not have gotten to his wand fast enough?

An angry, tasteless thought entered her mind over and over again as she tuned out Kingsley's heavy voice: how could Harry be dead from a simple curse when he'd faced off against Voldemort countless times? He was not dead. He was the Boy Who _Lived_. He was her hero, the saviour of the wizarding world, the chosen one…

"I'm so sorry, Ginny," Kingsley said. He knelt before her chair and took both of her hands in his, dwarfing them easily. "Whatever I can do for you, you know I'm here."

Ginny laughed. The sound came out uncontrollably, violently. It pained her to hear it. And without warning, the laughter snapped into hysterics as the tears once again rolled down her cheeks. She screamed, without worry for the Ministry officials waiting outside Kingsley's office or the _Daily Prophet_ reporters waiting beyond them. She screamed and beat her fists against Kingsley's broad chest, bit her lips and tongue to dull the pain, and tore her hair.

Harry was gone. _Harry was dead._

The world began to spin without her; motionless, Ginny sat in the chair in Kingsley's office and stared straight ahead into the void of nothingness that would be her future. Without Harry, she was only half of a person. Without Harry, she was alone. Without Harry, there was no father for her children, no best mate for her brother, no confidant for secrets, no chalice for her hopes, no keeper of her heart, no match for her love.

Arms encircled her, words consoled her, but the world held a great void where Harry had once been, and Ginny couldn't seem to fill it back up.

~*~

 _Harry Potter often smiled at strangers. It was his way of coping with their wide-eyed stares and awed outbursts of acknowledgment. Harry didn't always like everyone, but everyone always liked Harry… or that was what the history books always said but that wasn't the whole story._

_The whole story was that some people hated Harry. There were those who hated what he stood for—they called themselves the Death Eater Resistance. They were flies in Harry's soup, and he flicked them from his mind easily. There were also those who hated Harry because they were indebted to him; they were people like Draco Malfoy, who remembered what it was to have his life saved on the tail-end of fire, who woke with nightmares and drenched in sweat, who couldn't hug his own son because he'd never been hugged first. Draco was the thorn in Harry's side, the irksome itch he could never quite scratch, the thing that ate into his mind when all else was wiped and calm. And then there were those who hated Harry because of the legend; they were secretive types he couldn't pinpoint, but he knew so many of them. Yet he forgave them all their silent, selfish aggressions, because he understood what it was to want and not have._

_Harry Potter often smiled at strangers, but that wasn't the whole story._

~*~

Ginny was used to the publicity that came with being married to Harry Potter. Their marriage had made front-page news, photographs of their children were smuggled out of the hospital and into the _Prophet_ , along with detailed descriptions of every childhood milestone, every bicker or quarrel, near-death encounter, and experiences that should have been private moments between their close-knit family. At first, it was jarring and hard to understand why people would want to see a photograph of Ginny attending one of Harry's post-war fundraisers or performing mundane tasks in the garden or with the kids, but it quickly became routine to hold baby James wrapped with blankets over his face so the _Prophet_ couldn't photograph him or to throw the Invisibility Cloak over Lily while they trekked her to St. Mungo's and back from an accidental curse accident. 

And Ginny was famous, too, so she shouldn't have ever been surprised by the media circus that constantly followed their family around. Maybe Ginny was just humble, as every paparazzi sneak attack surprised her, every flash of the cameras irked her, and every time a reporter asked about this or that rumour, Ginny still had time to be caught off guard.

Even having experienced the whirlwind of the _Prophet_ 's harassment firsthand since she'd married Harry, nothing prepared Ginny for the uproar surrounding his funeral. As she gathered James, Albus, and Lily close, the flashing lights flickered and snapped, a thousand reporters crowded and jostled, and questions bombarded them as they made their way out of the house towards the Portkey pickup location. Hermione had suggested that a Portkey would be a safer alternative to getting to their secret funeral location, but now Ginny wasn't sure there was any way to keep things secret anymore.

"Get out of our bloody way, arseholes!" James growled, shoving a reporter firmly with both hands as he broke away from Ginny to clear a path.

"Don't give them any fuel for their fires, James," Lily whined. "They're just going to turn it into an awful story."

Albus grabbed James' elbow and pulled him back into the fold. "Come on," he whispered consolingly. "Remember what Dad always said."

"Yeah, well, Dad's not here, is he, Al?" James spat, yanking his arm away and stalking off, shoving reporters left and right to get through. "Jesus Christ."

Beside Ginny, Lily began to cry. Instead of patting her head or combing through her hair to calm her, Ginny just continued walking, her face void of expression, body numb. This was just the last straw she would have to suffer through before things could return to normal. Just one funeral—Merlin knew she'd been to enough of them after the war—and she could rest and relax and forget that Harry ever existed. One funeral. Just one day.

When they arrived to the Portkey location, Ginny was not altogether surprised to find Scorpius waiting, anxiously tugging the sleeves of his black dress robes.

"Mind if I tag along with you lot?" Scorpius asked, posing his question both directly to Ginny and to the younger brood as well.

Albus moved forward and wrapped his arms around Scorpius' neck, hugging him tightly. "Of course, mate," he breathed. "Merlin, I'm glad you decided to come."

Scorpius smiled as his arms tightened around Albus. Ginny watched, her own arm limp around Lily's shoulder. She felt almost as if she were intruding on their private moment together, but Ginny felt a sudden flash of anger that she barely managed to contain—Scorpius was not her son, was not _Harry's_ anything. Just because Scorpius' own family never wanted anything to do with him didn't mean he could tag along whenever he pleased. The irrational impulse to say those things aloud was barely cut off by the announcement from James that their time was coming up.

With a grimace, Ginny drew close. Scorpius was beside her on one side, his eyes sweeping from Albus to her. She ignored his concerned glance, even when he leaned in to ask her again if it was all right he went with them.

"Suit yourself," Ginny replied coldly, eyes drawn down to the muddy tire Portkey she gripped with her children. 

"Thanks," Scorpius whispered. For some reason, the sound of it grated on Ginny's last nerve.

"But it's not all right, if you must know," she snapped, brown eyes filling with tears as she looked into his wide-eyed expression. Clearly, she'd caught him by surprise. The emotions flitting across his sharp features only furthered her desire to add, "I don't want you here at all." 

"Mrs. Potter…" Scorpius stalled for a moment and then narrowed his eyes. The tone of his voice dropped like a stone between them—hard and unforgiving. "Harry was like a father to me. I have every right to be here, same as anyone."

"Sure you're not just here to get your fix of the publicity?"

"Mum!" Lily gasped. "He's not like that—you _know_ that! Leave him alone."

Heat swam over Ginny's skin as she turned her back to Scorpius and faced Lily instead. "I'm sorry, darling," she apologized, but the sentiment was meant for Lily and not Scorpius.

"No offense taken," Scorpius said, leaning in.

"The Portkey will activate in twenty seconds," James interrupted. "So everyone grip tightly."

"Mrs. Potter, where will the services be held?" one of the reporters shouted.

"Mum, hold onto Lily," Albus urged above the noise.

"Why isn't there a public funeral?" another reporter barraged.

"We have a right to mourn the loss of a hero, too!" yelped another.

Ginny was only glad when the Portkey finally activated and spun the five of them out of the field and to a solitary plot of land several thousands of kilometres away. As usual, Lily was sick when they landed and had to throw up. Albus staggered forward to help her get some water and James dusted off his robes as he caught his balance. Scorpius remained by Ginny's side and pressed in close to touch the bend of her elbow.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Ginny laughed, and a hiccough escaped. She covered her mouth, yanked her arm free, and spun to face him. "Couldn't be better," she lied, eyes swelling with tears.

Scorpius gave her a pained look, but before he could say anything else, Ginny removed herself from her children and headed towards Hermione and Ron, who were waiting some distance away.

"Hey, Ginny," Ron said awkwardly. He held out his arms, and Ginny fell into them.

Hermione completed the embrace with her own arms, and for a time, the three of them stood like that in silence. It wasn't long before Molly and Arthur found them and pulled Ginny into their own warm hugs, then George and Angelina, Percy and Audrey, Bill and Fleur, and all mass of couples who had someone when Ginny didn't. Ginny was unbearably grateful to Charlie, who was alone just like her, even if he didn't know the pain she went through in losing her soul mate.

"I've set up some good wards," Charlie explained quietly, pulling Ginny away from the family to show her the boundaries set up in the grass behind the folding chairs. "I think a few reporters found out earlier that something was going on here, but Dad Confounded them and sent them back where they came, so hopefully we can have a bit of peace today."

"Thanks," Ginny said, wiping her tears with cold, trembling fingers.

"How are you holding up?"

"I've got to be strong, for the kids," Ginny explained, blinking the last of the tears away. From her dress robes, she produced a flask. She had already drained most of the contents, but one last swig couldn't hurt.

Charlie grabbed the flask before she could counter. "How about some coffee? Or tea?"

"Just what I need on the day of my husband's funeral— _caffeine_ to make me jittery and jumpy. Come on, Charlie; it's the only thing that helps right now, so leave off." 

With a grimace, Charlie handed the flask back to her. "Do you want to at least sit down?"

"I have to make sure everyone's settled, and I want to check the casket, and there are supposed to be pictures of—"

"It's all under control, Gin," Charlie whispered, his warm hand a constant tether at the rise of her shoulders. He rubbed there soothingly. "Go on and have a seat with the kids. We'll take care of everything."

Nodding, Ginny staggered towards the rows and rows of white folding chairs, half of which were already filled with relatives, friends, co-workers, colleagues, and schoolmates. As she passed, Ginny felt the numb disassociation settle through her limbs again. She shook hands, embraced, but felt nothing amidst the crowd. So many people. So many lives affected by one man. So many people offering condolences, apologies, assistance, friendship. _Harry was a good man_ , they said—as if Ginny didn't know. _I am so sorry for your loss_ , they whispered—as if they understood what was gone now, the only thing that could never be replaced. _What can we do?_ they asked—as if there was something that could help.

Bonelessly, Ginny sank into a chair beside her family, nestled between Lily and Albus, with James just an arm's length away. Hugo and Rose sat nearby with Hermione and Ron, close to Luna and her twins, Bill's family, George and his kids, Percy's girls, and the rest of the Weasley-Potter extended family. There were so many faces, so many old professors and Ministry names Ginny only vaguely recalled. It was almost amusing that they considered this a 'quiet, closed ceremony'. They may as well have allowed all the reporters and onlookers to come in, too.

With a jolt, Ginny realized Harry would have hated this. Harry never wanted a big deal to be made over anything, let alone his funeral. Harry would have wanted a small gathering, where everyone smiled and laughed and told stories—not a parade of ghosts and tears and apologies. It was an awful idea, gathering everyone in the secluded mountains under a makeshift tent. It went against everything Harry would have chosen. Ginny hated that she only now realized it, when it was too late to choose a small gathering at the Burrow over this enormous extravaganza in the middle of nowhere.

Arthur passed by Ginny, jostling her from her private thoughts. He offered her a weathered smile as he made his way up the stairs and onto the stage that had been conjured for the ceremony. Her father looked old and weathered, his white hair hanging in clumps, cheeks rosy and freckled, wrinkles plentiful and stretched deep across his cheeks and brow. He pressed his wand to his throat and suddenly his voice rang out through the windy summer sky.

"This ceremony," he began, "is an unfortunate one, and yet it is the only way we have left to say goodbye to one of the greatest men who ever lived. I considered Harry a son, and I am very proud to have known him, to have been touched by him, to have been saved and affected by his life. He was taken from us too soon, and I don’t think any of us will ever forget what he has done for our world. There are so many reasons to thank him but not enough words to do him justice."

Ginny's eyes filled again with tears, and she let them overflow in silence. Albus gripped one of her hands and Lily took the other, both children trembling at the words their grandfather spoke. The sickening guilt in Ginny's stomach clenched taut and sank lower until she was wracked with it, lungs tight with stifled air. Even though she was surrounded by the freshest air in the world, it made little difference as the breeze rustled her long red hair, carrying memory after memory away with it.

With closed eyes, Ginny listened to her father offer up the stage to anyone who wanted to reminisce or say goodbye. She wasn't sure she could stand listening to selfish musings on Harry's life from people who couldn't understand her loss and grief, so she tried to tune it out and let the wind whisk her away to another place. She bit the insides of her cheeks until they were sore, gnawed on the tip of her tongue until it blistered, and ground her teeth down hard at every mention of Harry's heroics, affection, and sincerity.

"Excuse me," she whispered finally, slinking out of her children's' grasp to duck around to the edge of the gathering.

Lily, Al, and James all turned to watch her go. It seemed all eyes in the entire tent were on Ginny, so she hesitated in her desire to flee out of the need to save face. Hermione and Ron were on the stage, sharing their most intimate memories, ones even Ginny had not been privy to. It angered her, knowing she had never seen these beautiful little pieces of Harry. No matter how close they had been, she had always known Hermione and Ron were closer. They had been through so much together, were thick as thieves, and even when Harry let Ginny in, she was still an outsider.

The parade of faces sobbing and singing Harry's praises only made Ginny feel emptier. She watched in horror as Hagrid, George, Luna, Percy, Kingsley, and various others emptied their souls on the stage, telling stories she'd barely heard wind of in the _Prophet_.

And finally, just when it could get no worse or less bearable, Scorpius stood up, made his way to the front of the congregation and stood so still that Ginny wondered if he was even breathing.

"When I was thirteen years old," Scorpius began, no script in his trembling hands. "I met Harry Potter for the first time. He was tall when I was short, strong when I was weak, and sincere when I was not. I was only a child, and he was an idol, so much braver and stronger and kinder than many of us can ever hope to be. Like many, I felt privileged to know him, to shake his hand, to share in a laugh over dinner with his family. I admit, there wouldn't have been a pedestal tall enough to support the idolized image I bore in my heart. I was lucky enough to be part of that privileged inner circle that I had previously envied—I am happy to call myself a member of the Potter brood, not by name or blood but through friendship. I was only fourteen when both my grandparents died…" Here, Scorpius cleared his throat, eyes averted from the crowd. "My family… _I_ did not handle it well. I started getting into trouble at school. My family couldn't keep up, didn't know how. Harry stepped in and helped me at a time when I really needed someone to keep me strong, and I will always remember that about him—not just his unwavering courage in the face of astronomical tragedy and war but his kindness and the eagerness with which he was always willing to help where help was needed. To me, he was a dear, amazing, loyal, kind, understanding friend. More than anything, I will miss his warm smiles and easy embraces." Something seemed to catch in Scorpius' throat; he paused for a long moment and then shook his head to be able to continue. "I am no less a man to say I loved him with all my heart, as a father, hero, and close friend."

Somewhat awkwardly, Scorpius ended his speech and stumbled off the stage. Ginny watched him from afar, her entire body trembling with the loss she could never express so well. With sudden nausea, Ginny recalled the rift that had grown between Scorpius and his parents after both of his grandparents died in the same year. Scorpius had been fourteen, a good friend to Albus for several years, and he had stayed at their house nearly every evening that summer and winter. Albus wrote home several times in their fifth year, admitting he was worried about Scorpius, who had been especially close to his grandmother. Harry stepped in, and while Scorpius was always a well-mannered child, Harry's influence had been an extraordinary push in the right direction. Gone was the too-polite and often-brooding son of Draco and Astoria Malfoy; Scorpius came into his own, and looking back, Harry should have been thanked for all of it. Every quarrel Scorpius got in, every fight he picked—Harry was there to back him up, to offer advice, and to ease his pain.

Guilt flooded Ginny yet again, not only at losing Harry but at her complete disregard for Scorpius' feelings and motivations for being at Harry's funeral.

From across the tent, Scorpius caught her eyes, and Ginny tried to express her pain, her misunderstanding, her sorrow, through a mere gaze, but none of it would ever be enough. Harry was gone. They had both lost someone so influential to their lives, someone they loved beyond the name and the commodity that was Harry Potter.

As photographs of Harry swirled over the stage and magnified for all to see, his casket was opened for his closest friends and relatives to pay their final respects. Ginny watched, numb and cold, as Hermione gripped Ron's hand and led him up to the casket. The wind whipped Hermione's unruly curls, and she could see the tears in Ron's eyes even in the distance that separated them. Molly and Arthur found their way up next. To Ginny's horror, her mother flung herself onto the casket and wailed. With contorted face, Ginny crouched down beside the beverage table and pressed her face into her hands. The sound that tore through her was inhuman in its anguish.

Beyond her tears, she heard the rustle of clothes, the shifting of chairs, the little nothing sounds that meant others were stepping up to the coffin as well. Somewhere far, far away, Ginny heard Luna singing a sad goodbye, Hagrid blowing his nose loud enough to rival thunder, and her own children crying. The world began to melt away beneath her feet, so she fell to her knees to catch her balance, swaying nonetheless. Dizzz with remorse, she bent and vomited. The stench of sick couldn't even call her back to reality; it only reminded her to what level things had descended, how much she had lost.

In an instant, everything gone. 

When she tried to stand, she nearly knocked the entire table over, tea and all. Two thin hands gripped her arms to steady her, and someone called her name, but she couldn't hear them over the rush of noise at the back of the tent. Hundreds of reporters cast a single disarming spell in unison, causing the walls of Charlie's magical wards and boundaries and Disillusionment charms to crash down with a dull rumble.

"Can you give us a statement about how Harry Potter died?" a reporter hounded.

"Is it true that he was on a mission for the Ministry in Japan and it took three separate Unforgivables to bring him down?" another harassed.

"Is there any truth to the rumour that he was poisoned by the Death Eater Resistance?"

"Is this the only ceremony you'll be having for him, Mrs. Potter?"

"What were his final words?"

The grip on Ginny's arms tightened as flashbulbs captured her horror at the barrage of questions and the audacity of the reporters actually breaking into the private gathering to get answers. Pulled through the crowd, Ginny was finally able to clear her head enough to see it was Scorpius who had one side of her and Albus who had the other. Both had their wands raised and were casting hex after hex to blast through the line of reporters hounding them for details.

"I'll help Grandpa with the casket!" Albus offered, floundering in his attempts to pull Ginny along. "Can you help Mum back home?"

"Is that all right, Mrs. Potter?" Scorpius asked, his voice oddly quiet amidst the commotion. "Can I help you home?"

All Ginny could do in response was nod lamely as she stumbled along in Scorpius' grip and watched Albus fight back through the crowds to get to the stage, where James, Arthur, and Charlie were casting spells to protect Harry's body.

The urge to vomit again was too much. Ginny made a retching noise, pulled from Scorpius, and bent over the nearest bush to throw up again. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gagged and heaved and lurched. The warm pressure of Scorpius' hand at the small of her back made things worse—it was the kind of gesture Harry would have made, had Ginny felt ill at a Ministry function or the like. It was such a kind, selfless touch, and thinking of it just made Ginny feel worse about how she'd treated Scorpius earlier.

"Come on, Mrs. Potter," Scorpius said, after it seemed Ginny was through for the moment. "Can you stand? Here, take my arm."

"Please don't call me that," Ginny whispered, standing with Scorpius' assistance. At his questioning look, Ginny sobbed wretchedly. " _Mrs. Potter_. Don't call me Mrs. Potter anymore."

Scorpius gave her a pained look and took a moment to clean the sick from her blotchy red face with a spell. Then he linked their arms carefully and securely.

"Lean on me and just relax," he said.

The moment Ginny did, Scorpius stepped forward and they Disapparated. A second later, Ginny found herself wobbling in her kitchen, a cold sweat on her brow and the ever present desire to throw up worsened now after Side-Along Apparition. The copious amount of Firewhisky she had consumed didn't help matters.

"Loo," she croaked, rushing from Scorpius' arms and to the downstairs bath. No sooner had she hunched over the toilet than the vomit came again in full force, the tears and guilt quick to follow.

It wasn't long before the sickness subsided, only to give way fully to the pain. Ginny couldn't think of anything but Harry's pale body surrounded by velvet and silk, encased and enclosed, cold and lifeless, void of smiles and laughs and warmth and love. Gone forever were Harry's Sunday morning breakfasts, late-night Quidditch games with the kids, and sweet before-bed kisses. Gone were the laugh lines at his mouth, the stubble at his cheek, the twinkle of energy in his eyes, the heat of his body against hers.

Dizzy with memories and the lingering effects of the alcohol, Ginny fell back against the wall and stared down at her feet. She wore her best dress shoes, little heels and buttons adorning the dark sheen that Harry had never noticed or complimented. Her dress robes were hiked up awkwardly, baring the long, pale expanse of her freckled legs, and she sobbed anew as she remembered her first time with Harry, how he had crawled up her body, kissing every inch with reverence and awe.

Somewhere outside the bathroom, Ginny could hear Albus' voice, muted by the crackle of the Floo. 

"...and we were able to move Dad's body, but… Scorpius, thank you. Thank you so much. Dad would have been so happy to hear what you said about him."

"I meant it. Every word."

"I know… I've got to take care of some things with James and Lily. Can you… Is Mum okay? I wanted her to be here, too, but…"

The silence stretched out into whispers Ginny couldn't hear. Laying her head back against the wall, new tears streamed down her red cheeks. She wiped them hastily with the nearest washcloth and rubbed her tired eyes raw. There was so much left to do, so many words left unsaid, and yet she couldn't manage to pull herself up and get to work on laying her demons to rest. She was tired. Her body ached. She was dizzy and cold and ill and numb, and the only thing that sounded remotely worthwhile was crawling into a warm bed and closing out the rest of the world until it felt safe again.

With her head hung, Ginny stumbled her way upstairs, crawled fully clothed into bed, and fell into a troubled but dreamless sleep.

~*~

 _There are two sides to most stories; this one has four._

_One day, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley fell in love and the next day they were married and the next day they had three beautiful children and the next day they knew what it was like to grow up fast and without mercy._

_One: Ginny realized Harry did not love her anymore, and so she stopped loving him, too. Then, he died._

_Two: Harry found it hard to look in the mirror, harder to tell Ginny why he didn't want to make love. 'I'm tired' and 'I've had a rough day' seemed so trivial and heartless. There were things he wanted, things he needed, things Ginny couldn't give him anymore, things he didn't want to ask for._

_Three: Teddy had the Cloak on, had Draco Malfoy's old wand clutched in his bony fingers, taunting Muggle children down the street, and he laughed and laughed and thought himself clever. Harry lost it and threw him out, said he was a bad example for James and Albus, that he didn't trust Teddy, that no one ever would, that he was just as heartless as a young Voldemort. Teddy walked out and never went back._

_Four: Draco never touched his son, but all Scorpius wanted was to be warm in his father's embrace. Scorpius became a Potter, relished the love and attention, and lost a second father in Harry's death. Scorpius unwound from the inside out._

_The lessons in the four stories: Harry died and Ginny didn't know how to cope and Teddy didn't know how to apologize and Scorpius was still in the process of becoming._

~*~

Sunlight no longer streamed in through the windows when Ginny awoke. The house was quiet, save for the ticking of a clock on the wall and the gentle breeze of conversation that wafted up the stairs and through Ginny's open bedroom door.

As she sat up, Ginny's first thought was that the migraine tearing through her skull was due to too much alcohol and not enough sleep; perhaps she had stayed too late at some Ministry dinner with Harry. Then, all at once, the reality of her situation hit Ginny when she looked down and saw the high heels and black skirt she still donned from the funeral.

The funeral.

Rubbing her head, Ginny listened to the few bits of laughter that floated up from downstairs, and a worn sigh escaped her. It sounded as if everything were normal, as if Harry were down there telling one of his awful, corny jokes, making the kids laugh. Maybe he wasn't dead. Maybe Ginny wasn't old and alone but young and with little children instead of grown adults. Maybe they were all just waiting for her to wake up to play a game of Quidditch or to tell her old sports stories or about the time Harry saved her life in the Chamber of Secrets.

A shadow passed across the threshold of her bedroom and stuttered before it melted into darkness. When Ginny looked up, Scorpius was there, a worn expression on his face and concern shining in his eyes.

"Just how many times have you checked on me since I fell asleep?" Ginny asked hoarsely, rubbing her tired face.

"Several," Scorpius admitted. Still, he hesitated. Ginny had to wonder if he thought he was overstepping some sacred boundary just by walking into her room. "Al, James, and Lily are downstairs, and Hugo and Rose asked if they could spend the night as well." Awkwardly, Scorpius cleared his throat. "Also… There's a letter for you downstairs. From Teddy."

For a moment, Ginny was sure she hadn't heard Scorpius right. She blinked, as if that would help, and then swallowed around the unforgiving lump that formed in her throat at the idea that Teddy had written.

"Burn it," she snapped, sliding out of bed with a grimace. "He couldn't even show up for Harry's funeral, so why would I care what he has to say?" Saying the words aloud, Ginny felt sickened with the grief of the statement. Of course she cared. Once upon a time, they had both cared for Teddy like a son.

"That's exactly what James said, but I'm not going to burn it," Scorpius argued. "I'll save it. Maybe you'll want to open it later."

"Not likely." Ginny approached Scorpius, grabbing a long robe off the edge of the bed. "What are you still doing here, Scorpius?" she asked with a shake of her head. "Your parents… They probably want to—"

"You know they don't give a damn," Scorpius interrupted sharply. "I haven't talked to them in nearly five years."

With a nod, Ginny pressed her fingers to Scorpius' lean shoulder, feeling it tense beneath her touch. "Death changes people. Your father knew Harry well—Harry saved his life—and while they weren't friends, I can't imagine what he must be feeling now."

"My father doesn't give a damn," Scorpius repeated, jerking from Ginny's grip. "Harry was more of a father to me than he ever was."

For the first time since Harry's death, Ginny saw tears rising in Scorpius' cool gaze. It was not the first time she had ever seen him cry, but it had been years since she'd caught him huddled under the blankets in the spare room on stormy summer evenings, red-cheeked and wet-eyed. It caught her off guard, and yet she knew she shouldn't be surprised. Everyone was affected. Scorpius had been like a son to Harry. They'd been friends, even.

Ginny again felt left out, as if she'd missed some big piece of a mysterious puzzle she wasn't meant to solve. Everyone else seemed to get it. Why had she missed so much when Harry was alive? Why had Harry kept so much from her?

"I'm sorry," Scorpius whispered, drawing closer to catch Ginny's gaze. "But you know it's true. I don't think you realize how much I owed to Harry, how much he did for me."

Ginny scoffed, tears burning her dry eyes. "I get it, Scorpius. Harry Potter, the greatest hero who ever lived." She gestured wide with both arms, biting her tongue and cheeks between words to get them out without sobbing. "The saviour, the chosen one! I, of all people, get it. I was married to the myth for twenty-seven years, after all. It's just fantastic, how much good he did for everyone else while our marriage was crumbling under his abandonment, and we hadn't made love in years, and I don't even remember the last time he was home for a full weekend without being dragged away to be somebody else's hero."

When the words were said aloud, Ginny felt both weightless and full of merciless sorrow. It was the truth—all of the malice and loathing she'd felt towards Harry's heroics for everyone but her since the fizzle of their marriage began some eight or ten years ago. She had wanted to say those things for such a long time that when she'd had the chance, they all came rushing out, inconsiderate of all that stood between them. Scorpius' eyes were wide and horrified, like he hadn't expected Harry could be faulted for anything. Ginny wanted both to console him and go on airing Harry's dirty laundry. She settled for a grimace and a sigh.

"I loved him endlessly," Ginny said quietly. "But there's only so much a person is meant to bear. All this time, I've been waiting for someone to ask me how I am, but everyone always wondered about Harry… The truth was always that Harry was happy, and I was not. Not for a long, long time."

"Mrs. Potter, I didn't—"

" _Don't_ call me that," Ginny growled, gripping the collar on Scorpius' button-up shirt. She held the fabric tight in her fist, clenching until the wrinkles of the crisp material bunched up under her palm. "He's dead. I'm not Mrs. Potter. I'm not Mrs. anything anymore." Despite the anger in her voice, there was devastation and confusion in her soft brown eyes as they searched Scorpius for understanding. Something snapped in her, at the horrified and awed look Scorpius gave her, and she used it to her advantage when she pressed forward and closed the distance between them. One shove was all it took to land Scorpius flat against the wall, his face a cringe of pain and misunderstanding.

"I'm sorry," Scorpius whispered, shaking. "So sorry." When his eyes opened, tears spilled free. "I didn't know. You shouldn't be unhappy." There was a hitch in his voice when he added, "Harry wasn't perfect—I know that. Nobody is."

Ginny's eyes raked over Scorpius' face, taking in the blanched skin and the white-blond eyebrows and the too-blue eyes and the devastation lurking just beneath the surface. Her fingers tightened on his collar, gripping so hard that the buttons dug into her palm.

Something had happened between the moment Harry died and now, standing with Scorpius Malfoy cornered in her bedroom against the wall. Ginny was broken beyond repair, full of self-loathing and remorse for all the things unsaid and the acts undone and everything she had lost.

Eyes half-lidded and unfocused, Ginny leaned in and found Scorpius' pliant, thin-lipped mouth. He was so different than Harry, so skinny and tall and white, like a strange porcelain doll limp in her grasp. Scorpius did not move, did not breathe, certainly did not kiss her back. Ginny cared nothing for his resolve, tangled her free hand into his long, silken hair, tugged it to tip his face, unsurprised when he obeyed her every wordless command.

Their eyes met as Ginny's tongue swiped over the crease of his lips, but up so close Scorpius just looked like a pale array of pixels with no clear figure. It wasn't long before she couldn't stand to look at him and closed her eyes, pressing her body against his like a dying thing. 

It wasn't long at all before Scorpius took her by her shoulders and wrenched her away with more force than she would have thought him capable. Without his mouth, Ginny felt foolish and too aware of it, of her age, of the knowledge that she had just ruined everything.

The look on Scorpius' face was so innocent, so young, so understanding. It broke her heart.

"I'm going to get some tea," Ginny murmured in a daze, pulling away and disappearing downstairs. She left Scorpius to slump against the wall and wonder what she'd done to him.

In the strange aftermath of the out-of-the-blue kiss, Ginny stumbled into a beautiful scene, the likes of which she felt she hadn't seen in years. On the couch by a dimming fire, James was slumped in Harry's old armchair, Lily and Albus were passed out on floor, half in one another's arms, and on the couch, Rose and Hugo were bundled under two quilts, still in their dress robes and unaware. Empty glasses lined the coffee table, bottles of butterbeer were half-tipped over and staining the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_.

Ginny's smile stalled on her lips. A shadow hesitated on the stairs and then retreated, and she knew Scorpius wouldn't come down that evening—he was the only person in the house who didn't belong.

~*~

 _Ginny sleeps with a ghost in her bed, the emptiness haunting in its still embrace when she turns in her dreams to find Harry smiling at her. The ghost sweeps over her body when she least expects it, trembles over her lips, kisses her skin goodnight, leaves her shuddering and breathless._

_It is like losing someone, it is like being lost, it is like losing everything._

_Harry is free. Ginny hopes that he is happy, with his parents and Sirius and Remus and Fred and Dumbledore and Snape and all the souls lost to the winds._

~*~

The morning after the funeral, Ginny woke up to the scent of bacon, toast, pancakes, and potatoes frying in the kitchen. There was laughter and music and someone singing lightly. For a moment, Ginny was again lost to the hope that Harry had not died and the previous events were nothing but bad dreams, but when she sat up on the couch and slid the quilt off her body, she knew it was all true. How anybody could be laughing was beyond her scope of understanding, but she made her way into the kitchen nonetheless.

Around the table sat Rose, Hugo, Lily, and Albus. At the counter near the sink, James mixed a batch of Harry's famous blueberry-walnut pancakes. At the range, Scorpius flipped each pancake twice and sent them soaring onto the waiting plates around the table. Lily buttered her toast, Hugo had a mouthful of eggs, and Rose hummed her quiet song.

The sight did something to Ginny. Without thinking, she walked around the table and clasped James around the stomach, kissing his cheek.

James groaned uncomfortably. " _Mum_ ," he whined, but did not pull away when she smoothed his unruly auburn hair down.

With a look to Scorpius, Ginny ruffled his blond hair affectionately. "Thanks," she said, finding it hard to express her apologies and gratitude both at once.

Scorpius grinned at her, looking relieved, and shrugged off her thanks as he tended to the flapjacks.

The first breakfast passed in relative cheer, with Ginny counting her lucky stars for the rest of the family who remained alive. Later, over spiced cocoa and Quidditch, Ginny offered Scorpius the spare room, and the beaming smile she received gave her the reassurance she needed to know it was the right thing. That night, Ginny slept on the couch again, surrounded by her children, niece, nephew, and Scorpius. The fire died out on its own, and Ginny's sleep was painless.

~*~

 _Nothing the papers wrote was ever really the truth. The papers said Harry lived a happy, full life, that he died in valour when he stepped in front of the Auror who had a new baby waiting at home for him, and that he regretted nothing._

_The truth was that Harry had regretted a lot of things. Ghosts followed him wherever he went, desires tugged him beyond the shadows, and dark veils hid the things he missed and wanted and could never have. The truth was that Harry had not been happy for years, that he saw his deteriorating marriage as a failure on his part alone, that he blamed himself for the deaths of those he loved._

_Maybe he died in valour, but nobody is ever ready to die, not even Harry Potter._

~*~

After a week had passed, Ginny was so used to having all of her children back with her that she was surprised when James announced at dinner one evening that he would be returning to Indonesia with Charlie, who had started a new dragon colony there last summer. It wasn't long before Albus admitted he, too, would be moving back to his flat in the city and returning to the Department of Mysteries, and Lily couldn't take any more time off from her accounting job at Gringotts. Even Ginny would soon need to return to her position as the Senior Quidditch Reporter for the _Prophet_ , though they had told her to take however long she needed.

Everyone knew things needed to return to normal to restore the balance in their lives, but nobody, least of all Ginny, was prepared to come to an understanding of what 'normal' would be now without Harry. The day her children were all set to go their separate ways once again, Albus was the last to leave. Ginny nearly walked in on his conversation with Scorpius but hung back around the corner of the spare room when she heard Albus mention her.

"I'm glad you're staying with Mum," he said. "I know it's because you don't want to go back to your flat, but I think Mum's going to need someone to be here after James, Lily, and I leave. I can't come back every weekend like I used to—my job's getting more involved, and I can't even tell her the details."

"It's fine," Scorpius said. "As long as I'm welcome, I'll stay. I don't have anywhere to go, do I? We'll be good company for each other."

There was an uncomfortable silence that settled between the two young men, then the creak of the bedsprings, which told Ginny that Albus had joined Scorpius on the small twin bed.

"Have you tried owling your dad at all, since…?"

"No," Scorpius said stiffly. "I don't think it's a good idea. I haven't… you know… talked to him… in so long." Scorpius cleared his throat. "We're better off without each other, awful as it is to say."

"Still. Might be good to open communication. It's been five years, after all, hasn't it? Plenty of time for him to realize he's hurting you."

There was a lilt of fatigue in Scorpius' voice as he replied, "He's not like your dad was, Al. I wish he was, but I'm too old to believe he's able to change."

As the silence stretched, Ginny took that as her cue to leave them to their privacy, but the creak of the floorboards gave her away.

"Mum, is that you?" Albus called.

Rolling her eyes, Ginny cast a quick Squeak-Be-Gone spell at the spot where she'd been eavesdropping. With a nod, she stepped into the threshold of the small spare room and gave the two of them a once-over.

"Isn't it time for you to desert your poor old mum yet, Albus?" she teased with a warm, sincere smile. "Come here and give me a hug."

Albus pulled a face but stood and moved to embrace her anyway. "You'll be all right, Mum?"

"In time, yes," she said, keeping him close and relishing the way he was living and breathing in her arms. Her fingers crawled through his hair affectionately. "In time."

Finally, Albus pulled away and kissed her cheek. "I'll be around next weekend if I can get the time off, the weekend after that if not."

"The Ministry works you too much." Ginny folded her arms, watching as Albus gathered his duffle bag of clothes and his broom. "I'm going to send them a Howler about it one of these days."

Albus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Mum. You do that." With one last look, Albus sighed. "Okay. Going now. I swear. Scorpius, you take care, too, you wanker. Be good to my mum."

"Get out if you're going," Scorpius teased, but Ginny caught a hint of sadness in his voice and in his gaze, which was trained to Albus the whole time.

"Right, right. Bye!"

With a _crack_ , Albus Disapparated. The silence that followed was heavy with the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same. Ginny sat down where Albus had been a moment before, beside Scorpius, and stared straight ahead without really seeing anything.

The two of them sat very still for a long time, until the minutes had stretched into a half hour and then a full one.

"I suppose I ought to let you get some rest," Ginny finally said, frowning. "You're leaving me tomorrow, too, aren't you?"

Scorpius shook his head. "Only for a workday. Want me to make breakfast when I get up?"

Ginny shook her head and pushed herself off the bed with the last remnants of strength left in her body. "No, that's all right. I plan to sleep in well past what's suitable for a woman my age and then spend the day doing absolutely nothing." She stretched and made her way towards the door with a lethargic gait.

"Sounds nice," Scorpius said, grinning. "Have a good night, Ginny."

"Good night, Scorpius."

Ginny made her way to the master bedroom, where she hadn't slept since the funeral. The room smelled like her, all trace of Harry's after-shower scent washed away for good. She went through the routine she'd grown accustomed to—applying creams to smooth her skin, brushing her hair and teeth, changing into a camisole and trousers—and crawled beneath the cold covers. Eyes open, she stared up at the pale, unforgiving ceiling for an hour without realizing.

In the privacy of her empty bed, Ginny could not find solace enough to sleep. She felt as though she were intruding on someone else's space, but beside her, there was no one. The empty space that Harry would have filled seemed so large and intolerant now that he was gone. She wondered idly if she should sell the bed, get a smaller one, but the thought brought the sharp prick of fresh tears to her eyes, so she pushed it away.

With a pillow and quilt tucked under one arm, she made her way downstairs to sleep on the couch but found it already occupied with Scorpius, who sat staring into the fireless hearth. His skinny shoulders were slumped, his back hunched, his entire body loose and emotionless. There was a half-drunk glass of spiced cider on the table in front of him, all the whipped cream melted. Ginny approached with caution and pressed a hand to his shoulder. Under the gentle pressure, she felt him shudder.

It took but a moment to realize he was crying.

"Oh, Scorpius," she whispered soothingly. 

Settling into mother-mode as she rounded the couch, Ginny dropped the pillow and blanket to the floor, sat, and gathered Scorpius into her arms. The memory of a similar embrace haunted her—Scorpius had only been fourteen, and all winter he'd had trouble sleeping, and she often found him with a pint of cider and a face full of tears. Now he was a grown man, nothing like the young, scrawny little wisp of a boy who'd befriended her son all those years ago. Certainly nothing like his father, all trace of the Malfoys Ginny knew lost to the years between adolescence and adulthood.

Scorpius tucked his face against her shoulder and wrapped his long, gawky arms around her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be sorry. Let it out. It's all right."

"I miss him."

Ginny's fingers tangled in Scorpius' hair, wondering absently if Albus and James cried like this. Scorpius always seemed very sensitive to his emotions, whereas James and Albus were the tough-on-the-outside kind. She hated the thought of Albus sleeping in a lonely London flat, crying his eyes raw and trying to pretend he wasn't or James huddling under the covers and wiping his silent tears before Charlie saw something was amiss.

Truly, Ginny wasn't sure if Scorpius was talking about Harry or Draco. Ginny knew all the bad blood between Draco and his son wasn't something that could just be wished away. And Harry, as some kind of substitute father or confidant, was a horrific loss for Scorpius, too, another reminder of those he loved leaving him.

With nothing left to say, Ginny rocked against Scorpius until his breathing evened out and her eyes began to grow heavy. Carefully, she disentangled herself from his loose embrace and offered a worn smile as he curled up against the arm of the couch. Taking the opposite side, she drew herself under the quilt and soon fell asleep as well.

~*~

 _When Ginny looks in the mirror, she doesn't see her face. She sees the ghost of a girl who fell in love with a hero, bore his children, followed her dreams, and fell into sudden despair when she least expected it. Everyone says it's okay for men to have mid-life crises, but women don't enjoy such liberties. Or at least, Ginny has never thought it could happen to her that one day she'd be smiling and the next there was nothing that could drag her out of bed._

_When Harry looked in the mirror, he didn't see his face, either. Harry looked beyond his reflection, refusing the demons of his past entrance to his present. But demons are persistent, and Harry was only human after all. He never had to wonder what it was like to die, since he'd done it before, but somehow it was worse the second time around._

_When Scorpius looks in the mirror, he sees a young man who lost his family, gained another, and lost again. He wonders if he can ever hope to achieve a life that is his own and one without doubt._

~*~

A month passed in relative contentment. While the arrangement had originally been for Scorpius to stay for a few weeks, neither Ginny nor Scorpius ever mentioned him leaving, so he just stayed on. For Ginny, it was nice not to be alone, and when Albus, James, or Lily came by, she felt like she had a family again, that her life was slowly beginning to put itself back together. For Scorpius, it was an escape from the lonely solitude of his flat, a chance to stay with someone who cared for him.

In the mornings, Scorpius often made breakfast. In the evenings, they made dinner together or had Indian take away. They played Quidditch with Albus, James, and Lily, visited the Burrow on weekends to see Hermione, Ron, and their kids, and stayed up late almost every evening talking. Scorpius liked to hear about Ginny's work for the _Prophet_ , asked her about every detail of the Quidditch matches, even though he admitted he wasn't really a fan.

Scorpius returned to the Ministry for work, recounting that it was the most tedious job in the history of quill pushing, but he would be able to work his way up. And with his eye on a future career with Albus in the Department of Mysteries, he had to work hard to get there. Both of them knew Albus got his job partially due to his surname; while he was a talented wizard, he had a foot in the door thanks to Harry.

Life continued for everyone. Ginny found it easier to bear talking about Harry in public, thinking of him in private, without anger, guilt, or wrecking sorrow gutting her.

After a big weekend dinner with the kids, Ginny was anxious to unwind with a glass of Elderflower wine or two, so she popped the cork from one of the Elderflower wines she'd been saving for a rainy day and poured a glass. Dressed down in a comfortable white camisole and blue-and-black plaid pyjama shorts, Ginny swished the wine around in her glass and inhaled the familiar lavender-and-fermented-berry scent before she tipped it back for a long drink. Already, she felt her muscles loosening and her mind warming to the idea of sitting around for an entire evening in lethargy.

Scorpius entered from the back door, brushing snow off of his boots as he stood in the threshold. He pulled off his hat, blond hair tousled and sticking up at odd ends.

"Al forgot his broom again," he announced with a roll of his eyes. They'd had a mid-afternoon Quidditch match in the backyard again. "Want me to lock it in the shed?"

"Yeah, probably for the best," Ginny said, leaning against the counter as she poured another glass. "The Muggle kids down the road are just dying to see what is so special about our brooms." She grinned. "Wouldn't want them to get too close to finding out."

Scorpius nodded and turned to go back out into the cold, but Ginny stopped him.

"Wait! Wait, forget that plan. Get the extra broom out and we'll have a race or two."

Scorpius' pale eyes widened as he snorted. "At this hour? In, er, _that_?" He nodded towards her shorts. "You'll freeze."

"When I was in training for the Harpies, I was dared to race Celestine Ceres in the nude when it was twenty below, so I think I can handle a bit of English winter cold."

"All-female nude Quidditch?" Scorpius said, biting at his grin. "I'd have liked to see that."

Smacking his arm as she grabbed a coat from the closet, Ginny gestured towards the door. "Sounds to me like you're afraid I'll win."

"Oh, no—I _know_ you'll win. I'm not under any false pretences of your talent on a broom compared to mine." As Scorpius opened the shed and grabbed Ginny's broom to hand to her, he quirked one fine, blond brow. "Although, don't you think it's a bit of a one-sided competition if only one of us has trained and played professionally on one of the most vicious teams in the league and one of us never made it past lessons as a firstie?"

"Nonsense," Ginny replied, shrugging his fears off as she mounted her broom and kicked off.

The backyard at the Potter house had been one of the major selling points in purchasing it for Ginny, who had always adored the Burrow's sense of space and privacy. The ten acre plot was fenced in with tall gates and shielding charms to prevent the neighbourhood Muggles from seeing all the magic that went on in the backyard, allowing many a Quidditch game or race. From above, it all seemed both meaningless and special at the same time.

Whizzing through the air, Ginny shivered and damned Scorpius for being right. It was freezing, snow still clinging to the bushes and flowers below, but at the same time, the cold air was freeing in a way. It had only been a little over a month since Harry's death, and she hadn't afforded herself any opportunities to really feel foolishly alive since. Work was work: she had begun to travel again to the Quidditch matches, and things were moving in the right direction. But that didn't mean she'd had the chance to feel the air in her lungs or the beat of her heart or the ache in her gut that meant she was pulsing with life and thankful for the chance.

Scorpius caught up to her relatively quickly and spun the tail of Al's broom to nudge her own. Their eyes met, and Ginny grinned.

"To the end of the fence and back. Ready?" she called over a particularly rough gust of wind.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Nope." 

Biting back a laugh, Ginny gripped the handle of her broomstick. Beneath her fingers, the broom responded to her touch, all warmth and shuddering acceptance of her dominance over it. There was a distinct reason why riding a broom was one of Ginny's favourite things in the world.

Gaze caught, they counted together in some silent agreement of when the race should begin and took off at the start of it, both of their bodies bent doubled over and close to the handles of their broomsticks. The wind made it difficult, but Ginny took an early start and didn't let up on her easy advantage. Eyes focused, her red hair whipped wildly behind her in long waves of speed, snapping and lashing against the night sky.

Whizzing to the fence, she chanced a quick look over her shoulder and saw Scorpius struggling on Al's broom, laying nearly flat to the handle to will magic into the wood. The look on his face made something catch in Ginny's throat, caused a sting at the back of her eyes. Harry looked just like that so long ago, lost in the passion of the race, the sizzle of magic, the hard bite of the winds, the pulse of the wood, and the hunger to win, to capture, to defeat.

In her moment of contemplation, Scorpius began to gain some ground, but they had reached the end of the fence by then, so Ginny whipped the tail of her broom around with a hard kick and fierce lean of her body. Thighs clenched tight against the wood, she whizzed past Scorpius with her nostrils flaring and jaw tight. It had been years since she had lost a race, even to Harry, and Scorpius had never even been on a team.

The two of them, Harry and Scorpius, were so different. There was no reason for Ginny to think it, to even draw any comparisons at all between them, but she couldn't help the odd drop of her stomach when she thought of Scorpius losing the race, dismounting breathlessly, his legs surely trembling and weak, sweat upon his brow, and cheeks red. Against her better judgment, she thought of how nice his blond hair might look washing over his forehead as he tried to tuck the errant stands behind his thin ears. She even thought of her own fingers combing through the tangles, easing them into place, her cold fingertips pressing to his warm, warm scalp, of the day she kissed him after Harry's funeral and how he hadn't moved a muscle except to push her away.

Despite the loss of concentration, Ginny easily won the impromptu race and turned her broom to watch Scorpius come in panting afterward. The grimace on his face and the wobble of the broom under his weight made her grin.

"So," she hummed, drawing closer and sweeping her eyes over him. "There _is_ something Scorpius Malfoy isn't good at. Didn't think it'd be Quidditch. Your father was—"

"A fantastic Seeker, I know," Scorpius drawled, pointed features flushed in a way that made Ginny's heart stop. "Please, you don't have to rub it in. You're brilliant. I knew that going in. I was just trying not to fall off and embarrass myself."

"Well, it is Al's broom," she conceded.

"Al's fantastic broom with my lousy lack of talent," Scorpius added, rolling his eyes even though a grin threatened to break. As he sat up on the shaft and gripped the wood in one hand, he brushed his blond hair back with the other. Ginny's eyes followed every twist and curl of his hair. "Anyway, are you quite done? I'm going to freeze my bollocks off, and you'll be nothing more than a pretty icicle on a broomstick if we don't get inside soon."

Ginny started. Nobody had called her 'pretty' in years. She had been pretty once upon a time, when she was Scorpius' age, before the kids, before the stress of the marriage, before Harry died. 

"You think I'm pretty?" she whispered, frowning.

Scorpius coloured. "Oh, no—I mean, yes, of course you're pretty, but…" He sighed, a delicate white puff exhaling from his lean, pink mouth. "I'm sorry."

Ginny's broom vibrated under her touch as she guided it forward as slowly as she dared. Maybe Scorpius would spook. Maybe she ought to go inside and put on something decent. Maybe Scorpius hadn't meant anything by that. Maybe it was time for Ginny to grow up and stop pretending all things were possible at her age, even second chances.

The hard-contoured handle of Ginny's broom rubbed wantonly against the delicate-curved handle of Al's broom, and Ginny felt a jolt of _something_ stir inside her bones. Scorpius looked at her like he thought he'd seen a ghost, like he wanted to bolt but didn't know a nice way to ask if he could, like he wasn't expecting her to lean in and press her hand over the shudder of his wrist to still him or lean in until her breath mingled white with his and then it didn't because they kissed to smother it.

Unlike their previous kiss, Scorpius eagerly returned it, his tongue swiping over the crease of her lips like he knew just what she wanted. Rushed with the overwhelming excitement sizzling through her body, Ginny pulled herself closer, until their legs and brooms and arms were touching, and gripped a handful of his white-blond hair until he made a noise. With a jolt, Scorpius pushed forward. Their teeth knocked clumsily, but the noise of it like a clash in the wind only made Ginny want Scorpius all the more.

Both hands gripped at Scorpius' body, touching all the places to claim them—his imperfect and bony shoulders, his sharp jaw, his long throat, the tender flesh hidden beneath cloak and jumper. Carelessly, she tore at him like a wild animal until her bare fingers met his bare flesh and then growled in triumph at the noise she elicited from him.

Scorpius was the first to break the hot, wet kiss to make a sloppy trail over her neck and to the fleshy part of her ear lobe. He drew it between his teeth, flicked his tongue along the cold-hot skin, and Ginny ground down against the broom for something more. Already her hands were sliding up his thighs, seeking everything from him. Her body felt warm all over, despite the frigid reality of the temperature in the backyard.

A gust of wind rocked them, Ginny bit Scorpius' lower lip, and then somehow they were on their feet on the ground but no less frantic to touch and claim and kiss and mark. Ginny gripped Scorpius' hair with both hands, dug her fingers through his hair and to his scalp just like she'd pictured, dragged his head back so she could mouth down to the jut and bob of his Adam's apple. Fitting her lips around it, she sucked, delighted by the visceral grunt that escaped Scorpius' lips.

Scorpius never sounded like this. Never. Not for anybody else. It was with this knowledge that Ginny grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the kitchen door, through it, and into the warmth of the house.

Broomsticks forgotten against the floor, Ginny had Scorpius pressed to the door before it had even closed. Slamming his body against it, the locks clicked into place behind his back, and Scorpius arched away from them and into Ginny's firm, wanting figure. She was still as toned as she could maintain after years of vigorous eating and exercising habits for the Harpies, and for the first time in over twenty-seven years, she wondered if she was attractive. What if Scorpius didn't like the hard muscles in her abdomen or her tight, small breasts?

Scorpius panted as Ginny pulled away and yanked the cloak from his skinny body. Clothes began to pool on the floor, until Scorpius stood in jumper, pants, and socks, the hard contour of his erect cock stretching the fabric of his black underwear. Eagerly, she palmed him, eyes darting over his pale mouth, parted in an ever-present 'o', stretched around the letter as if in agony—but she knew better.

Her fingers fit over his long length, massaging him through the thin material of his pants, pinching the bulbous, soft head between thumb and forefinger. At that, Scorpius jerked, bony hips bucking off the wall and towards her. Hands tangled in her long, red hair, gripping and guiding until their mouths met again and Scorpius sloppily kissed the breath from her. Despite the growing dizziness swirling through her body, Ginny continued to rub at Scorpius's dick and when it seemed he wouldn't pull away to help her, she struggled her hand into his pants and pulled his erection free, nudging his pants down with her free hand so they caught at his skinny thighs.

When Scorpius grunted, Ginny stole the opportunity from him and nudged his head back against the door with animalistic tenacity. Scorpius simply didn't stand a chance as her mouth bit and sucked down the tight lines of his jaw and over the white of his throat. She left angry red bites in her wake, but Scorpius never said stop, so she didn't. Instead, she bit harder, sucked firmer, licked sloppier, until Scorpius's entire face, neck and chest were blotched with love bites and a flush that had him gasping for air. In her hand, Scorpius had hardened completely, his pale dick arched up to his stomach, sticky-sweat at the red head, veins prominent and pulsing under her palm. He made noises like a creature running on passion alone, as if he was completely submissive to her whims.

Finally, Ginny managed to let go of him long enough to struggle out of her pyjama bottoms. Embarrassment crept over her freckled cheeks and flushed her throat as she revealed the simple purple-and-black panties and her too-big thighs, bulging with muscles that she knew had always made Harry uncomfortable. No man wanted a woman with muscles—they wanted soft and curvaceous and feminine, not hard-bodied and masculine and toned.

But when she looked up, Scorpius's fingers were twitching at his sides, and the look in his eyes flashed with something she had never seen before. She wondered if he… Had he ever? Certainly, she would not be the first to… But he wanted her. That much was undeniably clear as his pale gaze swept her over from the fiery crown of her red hair to the paint at the tips of her toes.

Neither of them said a word. Ginny wondered if she should be sensible and call this off before it got out of hand—then she saw Scorpius palming his dick and knew they were too far gone already. Before she could beckon him close, Scorpius closed the scant distance between their bodies as if guided by magnetic force and crashed into her, shoving her against the island counter. Half-bent over it, Ginny was assaulted by Scorpius's frantic, breathless kisses, and she groaned as his fingers pressed firmly between her legs, a good guess or perfect mistake when he rubbed the thin material of her pants over her blood-rushed clit.

Gasping for him, Ginny drew her leg up, and Scorpius gripped under her thigh with his free hand, keeping her suspended on one leg as he teased and pleasured her. Arched onto her very tip-toes, Ginny abandoned the counter for balance and used Scorpius's scrawny shoulders instead. She thrust and ground and bucked into him, letting his nimble fingers push too hard or slide too softly against all the places on her body that were warm with want. When he let her go, she let out a disappointed whine.

Despite the disappointment, there was a rush of clear, focused adrenaline. She remembered this part. This was the rush of being shoved against the wall or into the mattress, being held down and taken, being ravaged and fucked, being driven to the end of her sanity and beyond, head thrown over the bed, springs creaking, sweat streaming between lean bodies, muscles strained and breath caught and eyes rolled.

But Scorpius didn't move. For a silent moment, he stood still, and only when Ginny's eyes raked over his own did he slip to his knees before her. This… this was new. This was not the kind of thing Harry normally did, but at the sight of Scorpius's pale blond head bowed before her, Ginny couldn't stop the grunt that slipped from her lips. She tried to say something, to tell Scorpius _yes, please, go on_ , but the only noises falling free were lost to incoherence in her excitement. Between her legs, she could feel wetness and heat swelling, the pain of it intense and acute, a desperate rush of blood and arousal to the lips of her opening and the hard round of her clit.

Without waiting for directions, Scorpius yanked the crotch of Ginny's knickers aside, exposing the red, swollen folds of her vagina. He leaned in without hesitation and pressed his mouth to her opening, and Ginny gasped as she gripped handfuls of his perfect hair to tug and centre herself. She felt as though she would collapse if he went on but that she would explode if he stopped. Wordlessly, she abandoned his hair with sloppy haste and reached down to spread her lips obscenely for him.

"No."

It was the first word spoken between them in so long that it frightened Ginny, coming out of the silence like that. Scorpius's voice was gruff and growling, the word a single command that Ginny mutely obeyed. Scorpius pulled her hands away and pressed them firmly against the counter near her hips. He held them there as if to say _stay_ , though he didn't need to say it for Ginny to know it was what they both wanted.

Slowly, Scorpius's hands swept up the insides of Ginny's thighs, over the hard curves of her muscles, and he pressed his thumbs into the line between groin and thigh tenderly, as if massaging. The gentleness of his touch began to drive her wild, and though she ached to thrust her hips against his mouth again, she didn't want to move and break the tentative moment between them.

Finally, Scorpius seemed satisfied, and he jerked her knickers until they fell down at her ankles and spread her lips properly. His tongue was the first thing to sweep over her clit—his small, pink, wet, hot tongue, lapping up her juices lightly. His small tongue, followed by a puff of warm breath and then the whole of his face smothered against her, his teeth brushing her wet skin, entire mouth sucking against the length of her cunt, and finally his tongue again, probing right into her without question or pause.

With a shout, Ginny's nails dragged against the hard wood of the counter cabinets as she fought to keep her hands away from herself. It had been years since a man had done this to her, years since she had felt so dangerously close to the brink of orgasm in such a short time, and she itched to rub two fingertips just under the ball of her clit and bring herself off. Already her legs were quaking, hips jutting towards Scorpius, head lolling back and forth, lips parted and jaw slack in pleasure. It was only then that Scorpius's fingers slid from the upper fold of her lips down further between her legs and right into her slick, hot slit.

"Oh—oh!" she gasped, fingers flying from the cabinets to take control of the back of his head with both hands. She gripped hard, forced her clit into the suction of his taut lips, and bucked wildly.

Scorpius let loose a muffled moan that only further succeeded in heightening Ginny's pleasure as it reverberated against her sex. One last buck and swipe of his tongue, cat-like against the underside of her clit, and she came. Folding over Scorpius's form, she clenched her fingers through every tangle of hair she could hold, thrust in jolting undulations as she smeared her cunt on his mouth and face. She rode his slim fingers as she rocked through her climax and eventually shoved him away when the pressure became too much and she crumpled, weak-kneed, to the floor beside him.

Ankles caught in her panties, Ginny gripped Scorpius by his cheeks and pulled him in to lick the taste of her orgasm from his mouth and jaw and chin. She was still aching inside, as if she hadn't come at all, so she crawled closer and ravaged his mouth to show him she wasn't done. One hand abandoned his face to seek out his dick, calloused fingers wrapping around the base and stroking in one slow motion to the head and back. Against her mouth, Scorpius whined, and the noise drove Ginny wild. With a laugh, she crawled over his body and shoved him to the kitchen floor. 

Straddling his waist was easy—getting Scorpius to lie still and not thrust up into her was much more difficult. She found him eagerly thrashing under her as she jerked his stiff length off too slowly to let him climax. She had a wild, immediate desire to let him shoot off inside her. How long had it been since she'd let Harry do that? How long since they had fooled around in such a rush? Since she let Harry enter her ass instead or suck him until her lips were raw and swollen? In an impulsive rush, she wanted to do everything to Scorpius, to let him do everything to her, to discover the weird little parts of his sexual perversions that he kept hidden from everyone else, to share her own with him and allow him into her in every intimate way imaginable.

"Please," Scorpius said, finally wrestling the control away from Ginny enough to grip both of her wrists. He held them out to her sides, sat up to nip at her mouth, even when she laughed and pulled away so he couldn't kiss her. "Please, let me—"

"Let you do what, exactly?"

Scorpius' eyes flashed with a feral look, but his expression went slack, as if torn between raunchy honesty or the watered-down version. Ginny wondered how he liked it. If he was the slow, sensual type who wanted to push her on her back and slide between her legs. Or maybe he was just like this, hard and passionate and a little too eager, desperate to make his partners scream. It had been so long, Ginny would have done whatever it was he preferred.

"I want to be inside you," he said. "Have wanted it for so long… felt like such a freak… I didn't think—"

"Shh…"

Ginny watched Scorpius' skinny chest rise and fall with every deep breath he sucked in and let out. His lips parted, eyes searched, and the grip on her wrists loosened. Taking the opportunity Scorpius afforded her, Ginny twined their fingers and slammed his hands down flat against the cold kitchen floor. She held him there just a short minute, long enough to show him she wanted his hands to stay there when she let go. Scorpius' fingers twitched without hers holding them in place, but he remained where she put him as her hands touched his face, roamed down over his throat, under his shirt to feel the flat of his stomach, and finally rested on his skinny hips.

Leaning back, she took hold of his erection, lifted herself up, and sank down onto him. It hurt a little, getting used to the sheer length of Scorpius' dick and the immediate thrust of his hips to bury himself to the hilt. Arched, she cried out and let go of his erection once it rested in her body. She took the time to feel the way he filled and stretched her, then pressed both hands to his hips to steady herself as she lifted, pulled off, and sank back again and again and again.

The lethargy of her movements was a strict contradiction to the eagerness of Scorpius' sharp bucks, but somehow they fell into a rhythm. Ginny's body rose and fell, and her hands swept over his stomach and under his shirt to claw at his chest. When she opened her eyes, Scorpius was staring at her. His brows were furrowed, lips parted and curled, face contorted. It was exquisite, watching him gape at her with those wide, blue eyes. With her body bent, Ginny leaned down to catch his mouth for a searing kiss.

Scorpius finally moved his hands from where Ginny had positioned them; his fingers began to dig bruises into her skin. Their lips moved wet and rough, Ginny's hair fell in cascades over onto Scorpius' face, and their soft grunts filled the air between them. 

It wasn't long before Ginny was drawing close to another orgasm; she knew all it would take would be the pressure of her fingers against her clit to send her into climax. But when she moved to touch herself, Scorpius slapped her hands away, wrenched her off his body and pinned her face-down on the floor. His dick rubbed in between her thighs, against her arse cheeks, and she felt the slickness of her own juices slithering out of her cunt.

"I love the way you smell," Scorpius said suddenly, breath hovering over Ginny's sex. "The way you taste."

She cried out when his tongue delved into her from behind, raised her hips to give him a better angle, and shuddered when he flicked his tongue over her clit. His mouth teased upwards, over her perineum, and she screamed anew, the sensation overwrought with so much pleasure that it almost hurt. Distracted, she didn't realize exactly when Scorpius spread her arse cheeks and thrust his tongue inside, but when he did, the noise she made was nearly inhuman. The sensation that jolted through her made Ginny's entire body flush with heat. Between her legs, her cunt throbbed painfully, blood rushing to all the places Scorpius had touched.

Scorpius took his time licking her arse, perineum, and slit, and then pressed two fingers into her cunt. Smearing her come from vagina to arse, Scorpius used her own juices to finger her arse, and it was then that Ginny began to beg. Almost incoherent, she began to whisper Scorpius' name with embarrassing pleas for him to fuck her arse, to rub her clit, to wipe her come all over her mouth—anything, as long as he'd get her off.

With a laugh, Scorpius finally abandoned her backside, fingers slipping out of Ginny's arse with a wet noise. She could feel her own come squishing in her arse when she shifted and didn't know if she should ask him to stop or beg him to go on when the head of his dick pressed to the pucker of her arsehole and slid inside.

Clawing at the kitchen floor, Ginny sobbed out Scorpius' name again and again, as if it were the only word she was capable of speaking. Sweat beaded down the small of her back, her clit and cunt throbbed for attention, and her arse began to welcome Scorpius' length into her.

"Is it… okay?" Scorpius panted. The strain of his voice was perfect, the low pitch a rumbling reminder that he was getting off on taking her exactly how he wanted.

"Yes, don't stop," Ginny growled. "Don't you dare stop."

Scorpius seemed to take her words to heart, but was clumsy when he thrust in the remaining distance. Ginny wasn't sure if that was because he hadn't had very much experience or because he just might love her and wanted to be careful. She didn't dare ask; instead, she arched her arse back towards him, inviting him to go further and harder. Snaking one hand between her legs, she found her clit, and when she rubbed her slick, come-covered fingers over it, the pleasure intensified tenfold.

"Oh—oh, Merlin," Scorpius ground out. "So—so tight… _hot_ …"

That was all it took, just those simple and obvious words exhaled from Scorpius' thin lips, just the brief catch in his voice and the hard push of his hips to shove his dick in and out. Ginny clenched as she came for the second time that evening. Rubbing her clit furiously, she thrashed back, impaling herself on his length over and over until her body went numb.

When she came down, she half-collapsed, resting her forehead down against the cool tiles to ease the fever that overwhelmed every inch of her skin. Behind her, Scorpius continued to thrust, but he wasn't long in coming. Somewhere beyond the haze, Ginny managed to whisper, " _Inside_ ," before Scorpius came, his come spurting within her arse and squishing when he pulled out. Relaxed, she felt the come dribble out of her arse, a strange sort of embarrassment rolling over her.

Scorpius didn't seem to mind or think it was weird as he lay down flat on his back and exhaled. Ginny turned to look at him, ran her gaze greedily over the sweat-dampened lines of his young body, wondering what the hell he wanted with a woman her age, with so much mental baggage, so much weighing her down. He was young, had a whole wonderful life ahead of him, and she was a mid-forties widow with three kids and empty nest syndrome.

Their eyes met. Scorpius breathed heavily as he propped himself up on one arm and rolled over to face her. So close she could smell the tea from dinner on his breath, Ginny couldn't resist stealing a quick kiss. It turned into something more when Scorpius' fingers gingerly dragged through her hair, combed through it, and cupped her cheek. They kissed for much longer than Ginny intended, but it was hard to pull away when Scorpius was so warm against her. Relishing the heat of his mouth, Ginny kissed him until fatigue washed over every limb and she realized they were lying half-naked in the middle of the kitchen.

Ginny pulled away, careful in her slow movements so she wouldn't spook Scorpius. He looked elated, eyes half-lidded and heavy as they raked over her body when she stood. Seeking out her wand, Ginny cast a few cleansing spells to rid the mess on her body and on Scorpius' before she sent their clothes flying into the laundry bin. She made her way into the living room, pointed her wand at the hearth, and lit a fire. When she glanced over her shoulder and saw Scorpius hesitating in the doorway, she smiled in invitation.

"Coming?" She waved at the couch, which lengthened and elongated into a queen-sized bed.

Ginny half-expected Scorpius to run off, to make up some excuse that nothing had even happened, to leave her there wondering what she'd done, but to her relief, he nodded. Pulling his shirt off, finally exposing the last inches of his boyish form to the dim firelight, Scorpius strode to her in the nude and tugged at the last remnants of her own clothes. Once they were both naked, they lay in bed together, shared a brief laugh, and allowed sleep to come.

~*~

 _When Harry was a boy, things were not easy but they were at least preordained. As he grew up, Harry learned that a simple, quiet life would never come without complications._

_There was no part of Harry that wanted the heroics, but Legacy followed him to his grave. Asleep under the shade of thick-branched trees, Harry felt the first hint of normalcy he'd ever known. Not everyone could slay a dark lord, but everyone died—it was ordinary, just like breathing or falling asleep, and it was the reason no ghost of Harry Potter would ever haunt the Wizarding world._

_Harry was at peace._

~*~

Waking up in an empty bed to an empty house was not exactly the morning-after experience Ginny had hoped for. If anything, Ginny had more of a right to tell Scorpius that what they'd done had been a mistake. Scorpius had no right to leave her like that, to sneak out of her house with suitcases packed, and leave her a note that said he was sorry. Ginny didn't even believe he was sorry—what good was a note when he could have told her in person that he regretted having sex with an old hag?

The note he left was wrinkled and awkwardly folded when she found it beside her in the large, makeshift bed in the morning. It read:

_Ginny,_

_I'm sorry. I'm moving back to my flat. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you. Please forgive me._

_Scorpius_

For a few seconds, Ginny wondered why he bothered apologizing. It was pretty clear he either thought he'd made a terrible decision and regretted every second of their impromptu fuck and happy aftermath… or he was scared shitless. Ginny hadn't given him any reason or excuse to feel either of those things, but she knew what he was like, and even she couldn't deny it was possible that what they'd done had been a mistake.

Yet… it felt good. Ginny felt happy, loved, warm and comfortable in his presence. And it wasn't as if she had asked him to marry her or take Harry's place or any of those awful thoughts. Is that what he thought? That he was a rebound fuck? Even Ginny wasn't sure what he was, but certainly she was too old for rebounds.

At the kitchen table, Ginny drew out a quill and piece of parchment to begin a response. She wouldn't be foolish enough to run after him like a schoolgirl chasing her crush, but she wanted to ensure he knew she didn't think badly of him for what they'd done. In fact, she would have preferred it continue beyond a one-night stand.

In steady hand, she wrote:

_Scorpius,_

_You owe me nothing. I don't expect you to stay here if you feel like you do. Take some time if you need it._

_I'd like to see you again. I wish you wouldn't have left in a rush, but what can I do?_

_I won't wait forever. Please owl me._

_Ginny_

Maurice, the family owl, was cooing happily in his cage when Ginny found him. He hooted at her, flew to her side, and let her attach the letter to his leg.

"Find Scorpius and give this to him, hm?" she asked, ruffling the feathers under Maurice's chin.

He nipped her fingertips and flew off into the early morning. 

A response wouldn't arrive until later that week, well after Ginny had decided Scorpius just wouldn't be able to handle anything more than a one-night stand. His response was short and to the point:

_Ginny,_

_I'm sorry. I want to see you. Friday night, Indian food at Shiva's at eight?_

_Scorpius_

A smile tugged the corners of Ginny's small mouth. She couldn't help the foreign sizzle of elation she felt in her heart that said maybe it was possible to move on. Dinner was a start.

~*~

 _Teddy waits for a response. He has been waiting for something his whole life. Waiting to be old enough to know more about his father, waiting to grow up, waiting for Harry to say he's sorry, waiting for Victoire to say yes, waiting for Ginny to answer his owls, waiting for the funeral date to pass, waiting and waiting and waiting for something._

_He tries to bide his time, to pass it with insistent apologies and whispered confessions of all his guilt into the empty bottles that pass before his eyes on the bar._

_Teddy writes another letter, scribbles it out, writes another, balls it in his fist to feel it crumble, writes another and sends it without thinking._

_Lamenting the time it takes to be a better man, he waits._

~*~

The letter arrived, half-destroyed by the brutal winter weather. It ready _Ginny Potter_ on the outside and in a small, scribbled scrawl, _from Teddy Lupin_ in cursive on the back. It was Friday afternoon. She wondered if Teddy was somewhere drowning his sorrows in alcohol or bullying, completely alone in the world…or if Victoire was with him again, if he'd found someone new, if James, Lily, or Albus ever wrote to him.

Turning the letter over in her palm, she studied the dark parchment, sighed, and tore the damned thing open in one go. What use was there in ignoring him now? So much time had passed. Maybe Harry would have liked to know what Teddy had to say.

_Dear Ginny,_

_I doubt your eyes will ever pass over these words, so I will just lay it all out:_

_I didn't go to the funeral because I didn't want to crowd you guys, and because I was scared.  
I'm still scared.  
Every day, I regret all the stupid things I did as a kid.  
I know I let Harry down, let you and the kids down, too, but I've changed.  
I wish I didn't drink so much—I'm trying to stop.  
Victoire says I shouldn't smoke, but it keeps my hands busy.  
I miss being a part your family._

_If you can forgive me, if there is even the smallest part that thinks it's possible, please meet me at Rosine's Café in Muggle London tonight at seven. If you aren't there, I won't write again._

_I'm sorry._

_Yours,  
Teddy_

The words brought something to choke in Ginny's throat. She read the letter three times before she was satisfied and then rushed to the bread-box near the sink, where Scorpius had stashed Teddy's original letter. Holding it in her trembling fingers, Ginny tore the seal and read it through, hand over her mouth as she began to sob.

It was already half-past six. Hoping she would have enough time to meet Teddy and then see Scorpius afterward, Ginny ran upstairs and threw on a wool jumper, jeans, and boots. She fished out her scarf and gloves, twisted her hair back into a long plait to keep it from tangling, and grabbed her coat before she Apparated. The safe point where she would find herself was five blocks from the café, the one she remembered Harry had often taken Teddy when he'd been a boy.

By the time she arrived, the Muggle café was bustling with customers. Pairs on dates, kids blowing straws across private booths, and the scent of pastries and chai wafting in warmly from the bakery in back. Standing in the entryway, Ginny twisted the fringe of her brown scarf nervously. Maybe Teddy wouldn't show. She hadn't thought that he would stand her up, but it would be very like the old Teddy to write, to apologize, and then have it all be some horrible joke that wasn't funny.

The flash of blue hair at the counter told her she was wrong. Teddy was there, huddled over a large mug of coffee, picking idly at an oversized blueberry muffin. She wondered how long he had been there, waiting for her to stand _him_ up. Head bowed, Ginny made her way to him and slid into the seat beside him without a word. Before either of them spoke, she felt his eyes drag over her and turned to see his blue hair singed with yellow at the tips.

"Hello, Teddy," she said, unable to keep the choke of emotion from catching in her voice. "All right?"

"I… didn't think you'd come. Not really. Not after I…"

Ginny cringed a little, turning away to peruse a menu, though she wasn't hungry at all.

"You look, er, good," Teddy added, toying with the spoon in his drink. "How are you?"

"All things considered, well. You?"

Teddy didn't answer right away. The chatter of the café washed over and between them. Finally, Ginny sighed and shifted to get up. Teddy's hand caught her wrist to still her.

"Miserable," he answered darkly. When their eyes met, she saw the red in his. "I'm so sorry. About Harry, about what I did when… about everything. I spend half my days thinking about what an idiot I was and the rest thinking about what an idiot I've become. I thought if I saw you, if you could forgive me, that I'd be… But I can see you don't even want to look at me. How could you? Shite."

Teddy fished in the pockets of his large plaid coat to get a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out. He tapped out a cigarette, placed it nervously between his lips, and fumbled with his lighter. Ginny plucked the fag from his lips and fixed him with a dark look.

"That's illegal in here, Teddy," she admonished. But with a sigh, she gestured outside. "Want to take a walk?"

"Yeah." Teddy stumbled off his stool. "That'd be brilliant."

After leaving a couple pounds on the counter for his tab, Teddy followed Ginny out into the cold, snowing night. They walked down the sidewalk in relative silence; Ginny let Teddy light up to calm his nerves before she spoke.

"So you smoke and drink too much," she said, shrugging. "There are worse vices."

Teddy laughed, his chuckle nervous and off. "Yeah. Bet Harry would've hated it, though."

"Probably." Ginny glanced sidelong at him and offered a tight smile. "Harry just wanted what was best for you. I know it didn't always seem like it, but he respected you so much. He considered you a friend, and that's a considerable honour."

"I know." Teddy inhaled and let the smoke puff out naturally as he spoke. "I wish… I mean, there's so much I wish, so much I know was my fault, so much that was beyond my control. I fell into some bad shite, got in so much trouble after you guys kicked me out."

Ginny stopped walking and turned to face Teddy, letting her gaze wash over his dishevelled appearance and the red rims around his eyes. He looked haggard, like he'd been running from ghosts that managed to catch up with him.

"That was Harry's doing," Ginny admitted. "I didn't really fight for you, though. We were both so angry. After all we'd told you, all the history and honest stories from the war, you went and stole the wand and the Cloak, were terrorizing Muggles, for Merlin's sake. I thought you needed therapy; Harry thought you needed a good kick in the arse. But that's how he grew up, and I know he felt bad later for throwing you out. He thought he was turning into his uncle. In the end, when you just disappeared, we both figured it was for the best. As time went on… I mean, of course we wondered what happened to you, hoped you were okay, but the things you did, the things you said… I dunno, Teddy. I know it wasn't the best thing to do, but you weren't keen on listening to us, either, so what good would it have done just slapping your wrist for it?"

Teddy shook his head. "I know, I know. I can't wish hard enough to erase the past, Ginny. Fuck knows I've tried. But I'm different now. I just want to start over or at least be a welcome face in the Potter house again."

Ginny's frown stretched across her face. She watched the smoke from Teddy's cigarette curl into the air and above their heads. Teddy sounded sincere, and Ginny wanted to believe him. The last thing she had ever wanted was for Teddy to grow up not knowing the kind of love she had known as a child. The large Weasley family continued to be a source of support for her, through everything.

"I haven't even been able to visit his grave," Teddy added, staring down at his worn trainers with the sort of pensive, sullen look Remus had been capable of. As little as Ginny had known Remus, Harry had always pointed out how closely Teddy resembled his father at times. "I feel horrible… but I don't want to let him go. I kept thinking he would write, he would apologize, and then when I realized what I had lost because of what I did, all I wanted was to be in your family's good graces once more."

Ginny grabbed the cigarette from Teddy's lips and stomped it out under the heel of her boot. "Start by cutting back on these," she said, pressing both hands to Teddy's cold, rosy cheeks. "And the alcohol, too, maybe?"

Teddy nodded, large eyes twinkling with tears. "Yeah, I can do that."

"And a visit to Harry's grave," Ginny added, searching Teddy's gaze. "With me."

A laugh let loose from Teddy's parted lips. He hung his head, shook it from side to side, and let the tears come. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'd like that."

~*~

 _What does it mean to say goodbye? Leaving things unsaid from one conversation to the next, little secrets withheld until later dates, rain checks and fears piling up on the table between husband and wife, brother and sister, godfather and son, friend and father. They are lost to the winds, tucked under dirty rugs, stuffed in nooks and crannies of consciousness until there's nowhere left to hide the little things that begin to clutter the trust and acceptance that makes them whole._

_From somewhere beyond, the spirits know that things must pass. Everything does. Breaths fade, flowers wither, strings are cut—everything dies, in time. Nothing is safe from the end of things; it is how you spend the time between the first breath and the last that signifies meaning, that fosters legend._

_Harry Potter did a lot of noble, wonderful, selfless things while he lived. In the memories of those who loved him, he lives forever._

~*~

Ginny knew where it existed. There was no doubt in her mind as she walked through the dark, empty hallways of the Ministry of Magic, that she was doing the right thing. She had put it off, put it out of mind, but it was healthy. It would help.

"You'll be all right?" Kingsley asked, pressing his hand on Ginny's shoulder.

Staring at the office for the Minister for Magic, Ginny froze. She counted each breath she took, chewed on the inside of her lip, and remembered what it was like to be so scared of something that no amount of physical or emotional support could ease the anxiety. She remembered standing in the Room of Requirement with Harry, running through the passage under the Whomping Willow with Neville, writing her deepest desires into Tom Riddle's diary, but nothing felt as horrible as standing in front of a simple office.

"Yeah," Ginny exhaled, closing her eyes to brace herself for what needed to be done.

"I'll wait outside for you. Take all the time you need."

With a nod, Ginny stood still for a moment before she pressed the large doors open and walked into the office. Instead of dwelling on the memories she had of standing there with Kingsley and Harry when he'd been offered the position of Auror, then Head Auror, and finally when Kingsley had told her Harry was dead, Ginny made her quick way to the row of portraits that lined the walls. Kingsley surrounded himself with the most intelligent and well-respected names in Wizarding history, and Ginny knew that a new portrait would sit amongst the others now: a portrait of Harry Potter.

As she approached, Ginny spotted the slouch of the handsome shoulders she would know anywhere, Harry's salt-and-peppered head bowed as he slept. The thick-rimmed glasses that had become a staple of Wizarding subculture had slid down the bridge of his strong nose, and his Auror robes were pressed and dignified. It looked for a moment as if Harry were simply asleep through the looking glass, adrift in another world. Ginny forgot herself and reached out to touch the sharp jut of his jaw. Her fingers pressed uselessly against the canvas, which rippled under her touch.

Harry jolted awake with a light noise. He sat up as Ginny stepped back and pushed the glasses up so he could see her better. A wide, familiar smile spread across his lips. The twinkle in his eyes that had long ago drawn Ginny to him lacked the same lustre it'd had when he was alive, but he was there, looking at her, perfectly animated in the canvas, held together by the wood of the ornate frame.

"Hello, Ginny," he said, smile breaking into a grin. "I wondered when you'd come see me."

Choking on her reply, Ginny leaned forward and let her forehead fall against the canvas. Both hands rose, touching all the places she could never reach him again. As she sobbed, she tried not to watch the smile fade from Harry's lips, tried not to notice the bob of his Adam's apple, or the lowering of his eyes as he gazed at her. But she saw everything, and he looked just as he did months ago, still so vibrant in her arms.

"Oh, Ginny," he whispered. "It's all right…"

Harry was a man of few words, had never been great with consoling her emotionally, never knew how to respond if she broke down into tears. It would have made her laugh if it wasn't another sorrowful reminder that Harry was gone and would never helplessly attempt to make her feel better again.

Ginny looked up find Harry's fingers trying to comb through her hair. His gnarled fingers jabbed awkwardly against the canvas.

"I can't, er, touch you," he said. "I wish I could."

"I wish you could, too, Harry," she whispered, wiping her tears and stroking the place where his palm lay flat. If she willed herself, she could almost feel the heat of his skin on her own. It was a horrible illusion, a trick. "I miss you. So much."

Harry frowned and pulled his hand back. "I know. Kingsley said you're handling it okay, though. I always ask about you." He offered a shrug and a smile. "Can't do much else but wait."

Ginny bit her lip to keep from sobbing anew. Inhaling, she could almost smell him, could almost smell the aftershave and the sweat and just the scent that still clung to his side of the bed sometimes or wafted through the air or remained in his robes and jumpers.

"I didn't think I could," she said. "It's bad enough, visiting your grave…"

"It's by my parents, right?" Harry asked, almost eagerly. "Kingsley said it was a really nice ceremony until the damned reporters got in."

"It was really nice," Ginny said, laughing a bit. "Hagrid nearly took down the tent while he blew his nose, Scorpius gave a eulogy, and I was trashed out of my wits."

"You?" Harry teased. "Never."

It was nice to smile again in Harry's presence, to joke with him, to be teased, to see him happy. She wondered when the portrait had been made, at what point in their failed marriage Harry had sat down for it, what he knew of his life and kids and career.

"The kids miss you," Ginny added. "And Scorpius, too."

"I know. Al, James, and Lily came by with your parents after the ceremony, and Scorpius just a few weeks ago. The kids looked good, but Scorpius… He didn't seem to take it too well."

"None of them ever told me that they…" Ginny bowed her head, rested her cheek to his portrait, and sighed. "Scorpius loved you. A lot. I never realized how much until all this."

"The Malfoys need to yank the sticks from up their arses if you ask me," Harry growled, sitting back to watch Ginny. "Scorpius is such a good kid. He could have had a great family, like ours."

Ginny looked up, eyes wide. "You think our family was great?"

"Still is," Harry said. "You're a brilliant mum, and I was a pretty good dad, right? I mean, James and Albus didn't kill either other, Lily's balanced, and even if you and I weren't picture perfect, I think we'd have managed."

With a vigorous nod, Ginny's smile lit up the room. The elation from his praise sparked through her like a bolt of lightning. Instantly, all the anxiety she felt about seeing Harry like this melted away. Shoulders slumped, she allowed herself to really relax, and then looked at Harry with awed admiration.

"You're still so beautiful when you're happy," Harry sighed. "Are you? Happy?"

"I didn't want to lose you," Ginny argued. "So, no, I'm not. But I'm working on it."

"Good. Because there's nothing worse than dying except dying and knowing everyone's miserable when you're gone." Harry shrugged. "Go out. Enjoy life. Have fun. Merlin knows if anyone deserves it, it's you, Gin."

As they talked, Ginny lost herself in the magic that hung like an aura around Harry's portrait. For an hour, they laughed and cried and shared secrets and came to terms with faults and forgiveness. Ginny told Harry about Teddy, explained that he'd be coming around to visit more often and possibly going with James to see Charlie about a job that would keep his hands much busier than any cigarette ever could. Emotions laid bare, Ginny left with hope in her heart that even if things couldn't be perfect yet, she had the rest of her family to surround herself with and half a lifetime more to attain the happiness she desired.

And there was Scorpius. Ginny hoped whatever they had shared in a moment of passion might be more than just a one-night stand, that between their pain and misunderstanding they could find some tether of happiness.

With a heavy exhalation, Ginny exited the Minister for Magic's office with a smile fresh on her lips.

~*~

 _This is not a happily ever after story. After the death of a lover, no one is ever the same. A little piece of them will remain always, buried deep down or embraced closed to the chest like a shield._

_Ghosts stay for a reason—they choose to remain, to stay behind, to fear moving on. They are scared all the time, and it is not an easy afterlife, to forever wander aimlessly through the dark and cold fog of the in-between places, never again to touch or taste or feel._

_Harry is happy in his choice. Ginny is happy knowing he made the right decision. Without each other, life spins into motion._

~*~

Standing outside Scorpius' small flat, Ginny hesitated before she drew her fist up to knock at his door. Three raps at the dark wood was all it took; a moment after, the door creaked open, and Scorpius stared blankly at her.

"Ginny," he said, pale eyes sweeping over her from head to toe in concern. "Are you all right? Do you want to come in?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

Sliding in through the barely open door, Ginny didn't bother looking around the flat—she'd seen it before when Albus had lived with him, before his job at the Ministry set him up with a better one farther away. She knew the chipping peels of paint by heart, the rusted balcony and skinny hallways, too.

"What's, er, going on?" he asked, immediately distancing himself from Ginny under the guise of picking up some dirty laundry from the couch cushions.

"I'm sorry… about Friday."

Scorpius went very still. His blue eyes hesitated as they swept over her again. When he shook his head, Ginny could almost see him working through what he would say before the words came out.

"Don't be. It was my fault. I waited too long, and it's okay. I figured you were, um, you know, not ready." He cleared his throat. "Really. It's fine. You didn't need to come here just to tell me that."

"Well, I didn't really say any of that, did I?"

Scorpius shook his head slowly. "No… Not exactly. Then, why are you here, Ginny?"

"To apologize, as I've done, and to see if you'd be willing to take a rain check." At his hesitation, Ginny drew a tentative step forward, careful to move with enough lethargy so she wouldn't spook him. "Teddy owled, wanted to meet up, and after a good talk, we went to visit Harry's grave together. We ironed some things out, and I really needed to do that. I hope you understand—it wasn't that I didn't want to see you. Merlin knows that's not true."

"Oh." Scorpius looked away, a delicate flush on his cheeks. " _Oh._ I thought—"

"I know." She laughed, disregarding pretence to clear the space between them in several strides. "I know exactly what you thought, Scorpius, because it's what I thought that morning after you left."

"I didn't mean to," Scorpius whispered. Ginny's hand cupped his cheek, and he exhaled, eyes closing as he shook his head. "I woke up and I felt so bloody guilty—I thought about Harry, about how you must be feeling, of all the times that I wanted you and knew it was impossible… I just ran. I thought I wouldn't be good enough."

"Oh, Scorpius." Ginny leaned in, pressed her lips to Scorpius' mouth and hummed as they shared a tender kiss. When she pulled away, she held his gaze and smiled. "I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm not even asking you to move back in. In fact, I think you should stay here. I'll visit, you'll visit—we can date like normal people."

Scorpius tried to kiss her lips again, but Ginny pulled away, tapping his lips with her forefinger.

"Like normal people who take things slow."

Scorpius grinned. "Ah, right, _slow_." He wound his fingers through her hair. "I can handle slow."

"Good. And one more thing." Ginny gestured to Scorpius' dining table, where she knew he kept a stash of writing supplies. "You are going to owl your father and invite yourself to dinner at the Manor."

"I…" Scorpius cringed a bit, shaking his head. "What if he says no?"

"Then at least you tried," Ginny said. "I know he loves you, and your mum, too. Trust me—there is absolutely nothing any of my children could say or do that could deter me from loving them. Even when I'm mad, even when I wanted to smack or spank them, I always loved them deep down. Your parents are no different."

"It's been… five years."

"Five years to rip the sticks out of their arses," Ginny grumbled, rolling her eyes. The look in Scorpius' eyes struck her. "What?"

"You sounded just like Harry," he said, smiling.

"Yeah? Well if that's what it takes, I'm glad."

As Ginny took Scorpius' hand and led him to the table, she knew things were about to change. Dating Scorpius wouldn't be easy, wouldn't erase the sadness she felt in losing Harry, and if it lasted long enough for her children or the papers to catch wind of it, Ginny knew all hell would break loose. But it was worth it, in that moment, to watch Scorpius write his father a letter for the first time in five years.

Ginny hoped it would be worth it in the long run, too.

~*~

 _Once upon a time, there was a man named Harry Potter. Then, one day, there simply wasn't. In time, that was okay._


End file.
